Only Dust
by Penguinator27
Summary: Some ghosts are real, some aren't. Rapunzel and Eugene encounter both in Corona. Written for the Tangled Big Bang, 2012. T for language.
1. Chapter 1

Note: This was written for the Tangled Big Bang of Summer 2012. I know everyone has their rendition of Rapunzel and Eugene after the movie; this is mine. I'll leave a goodbye note at the end. Thanks for reading.

* * *

Rapunzel pulled away from Eugene—before he was ready to let her go—her breath coming quickly either because she was laughing again, or from being kissed.

"Eugene, I—"

Then her face did something he caught full-on because he was only a few inches away. It was as if everything that had just passed was crashing up against one another, one kicker at a time: she put a hand to the back of her head and turned to look out the window; she turned back, her eyes and mouth wide; her features moved back to surprise as she made eye contact with him again, but started to slip back toward distress as she looked down and reached out with one hand to touch the red-soaked splotch. Eugene took her wrist with his free hand to stop her.

"It doesn't hurt, Eugene?"

"Nah—"

"It might still be bleeding—"

"I don't think so."

"What if I didn't heal it completely?"

"Hey," he knocked against the spot the way he would a door, "you healed me just fine. See?" Even though it was true that nothing in his body hurt at the moment, he had to remind himself to keep cool; the chill stickiness against his knuckles and the skin underneath his shirt was surprisingly unsettling.

Though he hadn't forgotten that he was still chained to a banister, he groped for something a little lighter to bring up—something to distract her for a minute. "Where's Pascal?"

She stretched up on her knees and craned her neck around, reaching out to him when she found him toddling to her from where he had been crouching next to two parallel lengths of her hair by the window. Eugene let the wrist he held go easily when she pulled, noticing a band of color forming around it—and the other one, too, once he looked.

The cuff around his own wrist was cool, and wouldn't leave any marks on him, as he'd hardly pulled against it; but he itched again to be free of it, especially as he imagined what sort of struggle Rapunzel had put up against it that it would bruise her so quickly.

"Rapunzel?"

She pivoted back to him as she moved Pascal from her palms to her shoulder, a small sort of grin on her. "How are you even here?"

"Maximus brought me."

"He's here? But—I thought you were going to be hanged." She wrung her hands together, loosing them quickly when she realized that they weren't wrapped around anything.

Eugene cringed, recognizing already that her nervous habit of tugging at her hair might give her grief. "Uh, yeah—I was all set to be, but those punks from the Snuggly Duckling busted me out." He shrugged his shoulders. "Maximus sent for them. Who'd have thought, huh?"

Rapunzel had her fists balled up in her lap. "Eugene—oh my god—you were almost _hanged_. What if you'd been hanged?"

He hadn't thought of it since earlier in the day while being frog-marched to the gallows—and he didn't feel quite ready to think of it at the moment; since the thugs had shown up and freed him Rapunzel had been much higher on his list of priorities.

"Don't worry about it. I wasn't. And now I'm here." Eugene held up his cuffed wrist and raised his eyebrows, still anxious of saying anything too heavy.

But her face fell anyway.

"Oh! She had the keys, Eugene."

"Hey, hey, that's alright. You forget who you're dealing with! Do you maybe have a hairpin or a knife?"

He watched her move around the parts of the room, carefully stepping over any lengths of her severed hair, around the blood that was drying on the floor, and out of the way of any stray shards of glass. Rapunzel brought him both things he'd asked for, though she looked skeptical the whole time she watched him pick at the keyhole.

When it clicked and popped open, though, she smiled. "Huh."

Eugene tossed the cuff aside and stood up rather more hastily than he meant to. He tried to recover by meeting Rapunzel's eyes and running a casual hand through his hair. But he listed backward, his back meeting a column of the wooden banister he had just been chained to. Through the white splotches swimming before him he watched Rapunzel scramble forward, then felt her hands on his shoulders. He squinted his eyes at her, trying to find the words that were surely coming out of her moving mouth.

"—wrong, Eugene? Are you okay?"

He shook his head out and closed his eyes hard. "Not feeling so hot."

Rapunzel pulled at his shoulders, and he realized she was steering him by her grip on his vest. He opened his eyes to be more cooperative. When she gently pushed him down into a chair at a small table, he realized he'd walked across the room without looking where he was going, or what he might be stepping on.

He exhaled through his open mouth.

"How do you feel now?" She was looking at his abdomen instead of his face.

He only nodded. She looked more concerned than he liked. He watched her watch the spot on his side, tense with not knowing what she was going to do next.

She attacked him suddenly, and only swatted away his hands when he tried to push her fingers away from his shirt. The buckles of his vest were still undone, so she had pushed it right aside and started pulling his shirt out of his pants.

"Rapunzel, no, you're going to get blood on—"

She stopped, though, as soon as she was able to pull his shirt up enough to see the spot where he'd been stabbed.

Also curious, Eugene looked down at himself.

There was only a little bit of dried blood, most of it stuck to the fabric of his shirt or in stiff little bunches in the hair on his skin. The place where the wound itself had been wasn't hard to find, even though it was completely closed up; a thin line, though dark, marked the point where the blade of the knife pierced him.

Eugene didn't like it. Eugene wished Rapunzel would stop looking at it. Even Pascal had ventured along Rapunzel's arm to get a closer look.

"That's never happened before." Her fingers felt cool and feathery as she touched the mark and the skin around it tentatively.

"What hasn't?"

She pulled his hand to her, turning it so she could see his open palm. "Scars. Any time I used my hair to heal myself or—it was always completely fixed. Like your hand." She rubbed her thumb across his palm.

"You didn't have your hair this time."

She shook her head, not looking at him.

"And it was pretty serious, you know."

She prodded his skin with her fingers. "Does this hurt?"

"No! But stop, it tickles."

She looked up at him, and was smiling. _That's more like it._

"I think I'm just crashing. I didn't sleep last night. And I don't remember the last time I ate."

"Cupcakes yesterday?"

"God, probably."

"I didn't sleep last night either."

"No?"

"We walked all night."

Eugene nodded, thinking that her mother had a lot of nerve marching her all the way back to their tower in the middle of the night. She must have wanted to get Rapunzel back in hand as soon as possible. Naturally, he cringed from the macabre, but the thought of her body splayed out on the ground outside was strangely satisfying to him.

Rapunzel was holding onto his hand with both of hers, but she was staring blankly over his shoulder, in the direction of the widow. "I want to leave now."

Understandable. "Sure." He liked that she squeezed his hand before getting up from the chair she was sitting in, but was uneasy about how preoccupied she seemed. He was starting to think he'd rather she'd fly off the handle and have a breakdown. _That would be normal, right?_

"I'm going to pack some things." She set Pascal on the table in front of Eugene and tip-toed across the floor into a room off the wall.

Eugene and Pascal regarded each other. Eugene took stock of the little guy, and supposed by the way Pascal's eyeballs were darting up and down that the same thing was being done to him.

He didn't look so bad, especially considering he had gotten a swift kick in the gut with that woman's boot. At least Eugene thought he remembered seeing that happen.

Pascal apparently grew bored of looking at him, and bent his squat legs to settle down on his belly. He closed his eyes, seemingly asleep.

A hollow ache in his stomach grew but didn't make a sound, reminding him that he needed food. He stood up slowly, allowing himself to hold onto the back of the chair since Rapunzel wasn't watching him. Though not about to pass out, he still felt a little dizzy as he approached the surfaces of the kitchen area.

By the time Rapunzel emerged from the room with a floppy-looking leather sack slung over her shoulder, Eugene had found some raw parsnips and a plate of slightly hardened cookies to munch on, and had set the few apples he found aside to take down for Maximus.

"What'cha got there?"

She was skipping over area of floor with blood and glass over it, so she didn't answer until she was already running up the stairs. "Just some things I need."

Eugene was a little too concerned with the cookies he was polishing off and the cup of water he had poured for himself at the sink's pump to ask any questions. But when she returned, her face was serious enough to bring him back to reality. She placed the sack on the table in front of her and sat down.

"These cookies are stupendous."

"I made them a few days ago—they're probably not that good anymore."

Eugene ate another one to emphasize his approval.

"Eugene… I need to know why—"

He nodded for her to continue.

"Well— what did you do to deserve to be hanged?"

"Ah." Eugene put down his cookie. "In Corona or… in general?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I've only been in Corona for a few years. Before that I lived—uh—worked all over."

"Like where?" The Rapunzel he'd been with in the days before appeared then, all wide eyes and curiosity. Then she remembered: "Wait—how about… in general."

He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly before beginning. "Well, you know about the crown. I did that a few days ago. That's the biggest thing, and it was supposed to be the last job I did in Corona. But before that it goes something like 'smuggling, forgery, looting, poaching, brigandage, perjury, depravity, vandalism, arson, impersonating Royal military officers and a clergyman, ransacking, _and_ theft.'"

It was hard for him to keep _every_ bit of pride out of his voice; reciting his litany of crimes was something he usually got off on. Well—something that Flynn usually got off on. He had to remember to that to Rapunzel, now, he was Eugene.

"I don't know what some of those things are."

"I'll explain them all if you want."

"I'd like that. Not right now, though." She made to grab that strand of hair that hung by her face, balling her fists up instead when she realized again that it wasn't there anymore. "Just tell me: have you ever _killed_ anyone?"

"No."

"Okay. Have you ever hurt anyone?"

"Yes."

"On purpose?"

"Well, yeah, Rapunzel. People don't usually just stand aside while you try to…uh… do some of the things I do."

She looked at him like she was sizing him up, and it made him feel very uncomfortable. What happened to her just being happy he was alive? Hadn't she stopped being suspicious of him when he'd agreed to escort her out of her tower?

"I mean, you saw me the other day with your frying pan, didn't you?"

"Yeah—that was pretty good."

The compliment made him look down at the table, and he only thought of cap. He supposed that sort of reaction was a consequence of allowing himself to act like Eugene again.

"Are these…things… something you're going to keep doing?"

"I decided yesterday that I was going to stop." He reached out for her hand, and it relaxed inside his as he gave it a gentle squeeze.

"Good. Because I want to take you somewhere with me, and I don't think any of those things will be allowed there."

"Where are we going?"

* * *

Pascal clung to Rapunzel's shoulder and watched Eugene, who was following them into the hole in the floor.

The sharp spiral staircase it led to was full of dust and spiders.

"I haven't been down here in years."

"Really?" Eugene ended dumbly; he was about to ask a whether her mother—or, Gothel, rather, as she apparently was _not_ her mother—climbed her hair every time she came and left. Maybe sometime in the future he'd ask her about the woman who raised her. Then again— _I might be following Rapunzel straight to a gallows_.

But it didn't matter; he'd already decided to go wherever she wanted to go, regardless of what it meant for him. If she wanted to go far away to the place he was wanted least, he'd get them there; if she wanted to meet the King and the Queen of Corona, he'd follow.

_ "If I'm wrong, I'm wrong. We can go away. But I have to know."_

Eugene guiltily hoped she was wrong. He knew what it was like to want a family of one's own, a place to belong—but he felt like he might be able to create something like that for her. There was so much she didn't know, and he knew a lot; _I could take care of you_.

"You might want to duck your head up here, Eugene—I think I just felt a spider web brush my forehead."

"Maybe you should have sent Pascal ahead of us. He could have cleared the place out."

"Actually, I think he's more partial to sweets."

Of course he was. Eugene paused for just a second to adjust his grip on the hanging planters he had in his arms. He couldn't even carry her sack for her because she was concerned about her plants.

_ "They'll die if I leave them here alone."_

They were to be planted outside. At least they'd have a fighting chance, she said.

"Eugene?"

"Yeah?"

"Have you ever seen a dead body before?"

He had no idea how close they must be to the bottom of the staircase, but she was clearly already thinking about what she'd find on the ground.

"Yeah, I have."

"I found a dead bird on my windowsill once. I was afraid to touch it."

"Sounds normal. Most people don't like—uh—dead things."

"I don't know what to—"

"The thing to remember about anything that's dead is that it can't hurt you."

Eugene could see Rapunzel's outline coming slowly into focus a few steps ahead of him. The plant she had in her arms was rustling over one of her shoulders, and Pascal was looking back at him from the other.

"I'll tell you what," Eugene edged around Rapunzel, who had stopped at the stairwell's exit, "I'll go first." He set his planters down, and took the one from Rapunzel's arms so that he could take her hand. It was the first time he'd held it, but she offered it to him without hesitation.

She stayed about a step behind him as he led them around the circumference of the tower. He wasn't sure what they'd do—or what Rapunzel would want to do—with the body once they found it, but it wasn't like they could get out of the valley without her having to see it.

He stopped when he saw the edge of the black cloak appear around the curve of stone they'd followed.

"Do you want me to go look first?"

He had to look back at her because she only nodded, and was keeping her eyes on the ground at her feet anyway.

Maximus came to meet Eugene at the crumpled robe from the direction of the stream. He looked up to the window then down to the robe and cocked his head. _What happened up there?_

"It's okay, Rapunzel's fine." He nodded his head behind him, and Max summarily trotted off to her.

It was probably better that she be distracted. He could at least cover up the face—

If he could find it.

"What the hell…?"

Eugene peeled the edges of the robes away, finding the red of the dress utterly flattened. He prodded the fabric with his fingers, causing a thin veil of powder to rise up from them. Standing up quickly, he turned his head away; he didn't want to breathe any of it in.

The dull sound of hoof falls on grass behind him told him that Maximus had come back—with Rapunzel clutching his mane and neck, he found when he looked.

He held out is hand again. "It's okay."

She took it again, her eyes staying focused on his all the while.

"It's alright to look, trust me."

She stepped up close beside him.

He switched the hand he was using to hold hers so he could put his arm around her shoulders.

"I don't understand. Where is she?"

"There's nothing left."

Rapunzel gently pulled away from Eugene to kneel next to Gothel's clothes, to press her hands against the body and sleeves of the dress, to see for herself that all that was left of her captor and mother was dust.


	2. Chapter 2

The walls of Eugene's rooms were already speckled with paintings Rapunzel had done for him, but he carried yet another wrapped in paper under his arm through the quiet evening streets of the Kingdom.

This one was a birthday gift, and rather unlike the other ones she'd given him—which depicted things she thought he'd enjoy, like a scene from _The Tales of Flynnagan Rider_, or a tailless cat that had taken to following him around whenever he was in the castle—this one fulfilled a request.

It was a picture of her. She did surprisingly few of those, and he'd asked more than once for one.

"You can look at me any old time you'd like, can't you?"

"But I can't."

Which was true. Princess curfew dictated that she be not only within the walls of the castle, but in her room—_alone_—by nine 'o clock in the evening.

So Rapunzel had, unsurprisingly, taken the painting beyond what Eugene had actually requested; he hadn't asked to be included, but there he was, superbly rendered hair, nose, and all in Rapunzel's signature stylized form. In the picture Eugene was doing something he'd rarely found an opportunity to do to Rapunzel since the week-long celebration that took place after her return to Corona: he was her partner in a dance, dipping her to some cue in the music. Despite the simple smoothness in the lines and colors, the likeness was perfect; her parents had even said so when she presented it to him. Pascal was perched on Eugene's own shoulder, as he was sometimes wont to do when Rapunzel would move around very energetically; the faint freckles across Rapunzel's nose were dappled just right; and he doubted it had escaped anyone's notice that he was holding her in the picture far closer than would be deemed appropriate by her dancing instructor, much less the King and Queen.

So it was perfect.

This visceral piece of her in his own place—not that he didn't already have a few tokens—would be nice to walk in to, nice to practice tricky questions or explanations with, and – most of all—something that would easily distract him when he couldn't fall asleep.

Because that had been happening frequently to Eugene lately. And though reluctant to admit it, Eugene suspected the routine and security he now lived with just weren't as taxing as the sort of lifestyle he'd had before deciding to settle in Corona with Rapunzel. Running, traveling, pursuing, plotting, and occasional lechery had taken a lot of energy and always left him ready to collapse—whether it be onto a bed or an unoccupied rock. But now, in his own comfortable bed in the rooms he let, he spent at least a handful of hours after bidding Rapunzel goodnight at the castle reading the things she'd lent him or idly letting the candles and lamps wear themselves down.

It wasn't that he had nothing to occupy his days. It was quite the opposite, in fact. Four days out of the week he spent time at Corona's orphanage, which hadn't been easy at first, but was getting better; he liked kids in general, even though some of these ones were real shitheads, and the place was nice enough that it didn't remind him of the one he grew up in for long. And whether he was helping by taking care of something practical that needed doing or just running around with the kids, he always felt ready to sit down for a break when he left.

There would be no time for rest, though, as the time afterwards was spent on whatever part of his atonement project he happened to be working on. At the moment he was a sort of apprentice at a woodworking house where he helped men more skilled than him make horse wagons and carriages to make up for the several he had destroyed in the past while earning his arson charges. Eugene liked this project because—unlike his past ones—he didn't have to dress very nicely, and there was no stigma for cursing. It didn't even matter that no one appreciated his attitude and openly complained about his lack of experience—his skin had hardened early. Anyway, some of the younger guys hadn't been so distant since Rapunzel had begun to pay him occasional visits there.

And even if his bed looked ridiculously tempting when he returned to his rooms to clean up before his evening visit to the castle, there was never any chance of him taking to it even for a nap—he only had Rapunzel for a few hours every day in between her Princess Studies and Princess Curfew, and he certainly wasn't going to squander those hours alone in his bed. Besides wanting her company and affection, he was afraid that missing an evening with her might make him feel inclined to run, as the urge did occasionally strike. _Old habits_, he'd think to push the impulse down. And he'd already promised her and her parents that his 'old habits' would remain just that.

Unwrapping the paper by the strings he and Rapunzel had fastened together, he didn't even care that it would seem overly-sentimental of him to prop the painting against the wardrobe where he could see it from his bed. The only person who ever came in was the chamber maid, and he could just avoid eye contact for a few weeks.

And anyway, he was glad it was there later, as the second—less common, more frequent—reason he had difficulty getting a good amount of rest reared its annoying head.

* * *

He was crouching in a thicket of ferns on the side of a rough road; he could see his associates in similar positions surrounding the general area of the pot-hole they'd dug and concealed. It wasn't _really_ necessary for them to hide—the carriage they knew was on its way would fall into the trap and be overtaken anyway.

And as soon as it did, they rose from their places quickly—but he was the only one to speak.

"O-_kay_, we've got you—you know the drill: come on out."

But the carriage's doors didn't open, and the driver looked to be reaching for something inside his cloak, contrary to the fear all over his face.

Flynn pointed a finger at the driver and one of his associates flew at him.

"Why did you think that was a good idea?" He watched the driver's dagger get pulled away and pocketed. "Oh, come on, you're clearly outnumbered."

Flynn extended his arm to his side—still watching the carriage door. A lit torch was handed to him—hot but still innocuous-feeling under the sun that filtered through the leaves and branches above.

He stepped onto the road, and the two men who were behind him got to work on the cargo that was secured on the top of the carriage. Even the ruckus atop the carriage wasn't driving the passengers out—_I'll try one more time_.

"Helooo, we've got your driver and your stuff—you wanna come out before I destroy your ride?"

Flynn walked around to the horses to untie them from their harnesses, but it was an awkward job, what with only one of his hands being free and the other holding a f lame the animals were afraid of. Another of his partners took the horses to be loaded with the goods they'd just acquired.

"Come on, Rider, finish this."

"Hey, I've got this—let me work."

It wasn't overkill to leave no traces, no shelter or respite for the people they were robbing; it was thorough. Flynn reminded himself of this as he trailed his torch along the flammable varnish of the carriage walls, finally throwing it atop the roof.

The door still didn't open, and Flynn could see the driver wringing his hands on the other side of the road.

"This one's yours, Rider. Let's go."

He was being offered a heavily-laden horse, but he gestured to the carriage in frustration.

"Forget it, Rider, the smoke'll force them out. Let's go!"

But he couldn't. He stormed to the carriage door, fully intending to throttle those inside for not coming out when he'd first asked.

"What kind of idiot would let themselves burn alive?" he muttered as he thrust his foot at the flimsily-secured door. It took a few tries before the thing finally popped open. He leaned in—noting the stuffiness was already uncomfortable—and roughly grabbed the only shadowy shape he saw.

He flinched and gasped once he and the passenger were in the dappled afternoon sunlight, feet away from the flames.

The sight of her gritted teeth, the angry set of her eyebrows, and the flames growing behind her hurt him.

"Oh my god, Rapunzel!"

He flung her wrists from his hands—

* * *

–and the next thing he knew was darkness and a wet chill all over his body.

It didn't help that it was dark all over. It didn't matter that he'd not drawn the curtains- there wasn't any moonlight filtering in anyway. And in the murky darkness all around him, all he could see was Rapunzel's face as he'd torn her from inside of a burning carriage- a carriage he'd set on fire himself.

Light- he needed it.

He needed to never see that expression on Rapunzel's face ever again. Was that even what she looked like when she was furious? Had he ever even seen her like that, or had his mind just conjured up some awful approximation?

The matches were on the mantel-piece over the fireplace. Why did he keep them there of all places?

What would he even have to do to make it so that Rapunzel looked at him that way? Light a carriage on fire while she's in it. That was one way.

Should he even be lighting matches after what he'd just seen?

He'd never put prophetic faith into dreams, but this one had a quality about it that creeped him out. Dreams about Rapunzel- he had them all the time. Dreams about being Flynn- all the time. But the two rarely mixed, and never did so with such unsettling clarity as this one. And the detail with which it appeared in his mind wasn't really all that surprising, as it was made of memory. Mostly—Rapunzel hadn't been there, of course, but he had done a few jobs that had resulted in decent payoffs and flaming carriages. That was why he was due at the woodworker's hall in a few hours' time, after all.

A few lit candles made a world of difference. First there was that tail-less cat that hated Pascal but loved him in strokes of brown and orange hanging above and to the right of his bed; then there was the mounting stack of recommended reading directly from Rapunzel; and finally—what he was looking for—that picture of her, resting against his wardrobe.

Really, it was a picture of the two of them. And that was fine with Eugene. He was holding her nicely, in a dance, rather than pulling at her wrists; she was smiling and clean instead of sweaty and seething with rage.

When he'd told Rapunzel he wanted a picture of her he knew it would be calming; whenever he looked at her, everything he was doing, everything that was happening around him made sense. And he thought that maybe when he awoke with a throbbing head and forearm from a memory-dream about the time an arrow grazed him there, seeing some likeness of Rapunzel would excite that same sense of purpose. He never expected to need to look at it to offset a terrible likeness of her he'd conjured up himself.

* * *

Eugene was allowed to go look for Rapunzel by the service staff when he came to see her in the late afternoons. He usually found her still occupied in any of the handful of places she was likely to be at the close of the afternoon, and this day was no exception. She walked alongside a frail-looking middle-aged man, gesturing at a potted plant he held between them as she spoke. She only allowed a cursory break in the rhythm of her sentence to kiss Eugene on the mouth when he met them, and took his hand afterward to pull him along while she finished up her business with the botanist.

He wished—as he sometimes did, guiltily—that he didn't have to share her attention. But he trailed her by the hand he held and kept himself polite and silent until she dismissed the older man.

"Now—" she turned to him after the man had disappeared from their sight to give him a kiss and let him embrace her in ways she saved for moments when she was sure they weren't being watched. It made Eugene feel a little less petulant.

Once they were walking along the hallway again—

"How was the woodworking today, Eugene?"

"Same as it ever was, Princess." He shrugged noncommittally.

"What, is it getting boring or something?" She looked up at him while they walked.

He shook his head. "'Course not. I learn something new every day."

"Oh, come on, what's wrong?"

"Nothing." He squeezed her hand. "I'm just really glad to see you today."

She stopped. "You seem… _off_."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know. Something's not right."

"I'm sorry—"

"Hey, there's something I want to show you." She pulled him out of the large hallway and into narrower, more dimly-lit ones to bring them to the corridor where her apartments were located.

Eugene hadn't expected to be brought there. He was allowed in her personal rooms, but was rarely given the opportunity to visit—by design, rather than by accident, he suspected.

"What're we doing here—?"

Rapunzel pushed him into one of the couches. "Shh."

"Rapunzel, not that I mind, but I don't think your—"

"Close your eyes, Eugene."

"Huh?"

"Close your eyes!"

_Oh my god_. He shut them.

"There's something I've been wanting to show you—"

He could hear the skirt of her dress rustling about as she moved a little deeper into the room.

"—but I wasn't sure when the right time would come around."

Eugene gulped.

"But I realize now that timing doesn't _really_ matter."

Her voice was right in front of him.

"The point is that I just put it all out there. Open your eyes."

Of the handful of possibilities he might have expected upon opening his eyes, he was not met with a single one. He was so surprised to find Rapunzel holding a sheaf of papers out in front of him—so surprised that she had to shake them at him once before he took them from her with a start.

"I made the first one… almost a year ago now."

Eugene had to focus before he could make heads or tails of what he was looking at. The were drawings made of lines darker, harsher, and more abstract than anything he was used to seeing from Rapunzel. The figures were all uncolored, he discovered as he leafed through the stack.

"Who are they?"

"They? It's all the same woman, Eugene."

He tilted the page he was examining, then his head. "Who is she, then?"

"I'm still not sure—that's why I try to make a new drawing every time I see her. Maybe it'll give me a better frame of reference when I finally find her portrait—"

"Whoa, whoa, Rapunzel—'every time you see her'? What do you mean?"

She slithered onto the couch without breaking eye contact with him, a toothy smile filling her face before she finally spoke. "I _mean_, when she _appears_!"

Eugene set the papers down in the space between them and rested his elbow on the back of the couch while he considered her.

"I showed them to Papá, and he thinks he's seen her before."

Eugene nodded.

"And the maids have seen her, all right! They call her a ghost, but Papá calls her a spectre." She looked expectantly at Eugene, clearly ready for his reaction.

He deflected, though, knowing that what stood out about what she was saying to him was not something which Rapunzel had meant to bring up. "And your mother? What does she call it?"

"Hmm… Mamá doesn't say much about her. I think—I think the idea scares her, and she doesn't want to admit it."

"So… why're you asking me if I'm afraid now? After everyone else?"

"I didn't ask if you were afraid."

He narrowed his eyes. "The last person to know, then. You've told your father, your mother, the housekeeping staff—and not me?"

"Eugene, I didn't think it mattered much before. I mean, you're only here for a few hours a day." She put a hand on the front of his vest. "And—you have to promise to act surprised when Papá tells you—but it might concern you a little more now that you'll be spending more time in the castle."

He bit his lip.

"Provided you accept, I guess."

"Hold up, hold up—you made a giant to-do about that hybrid ivy that cropped up on the walls a few months ago—ho did that concern me less?"

"Eugene—I don't think you're focusing on—"

"No, no, I'm focusing, just stay with me. Now, what's the difference between ivy and ghosts?" Eugene clutched his chin in his fingers in mock-thought, knowing it would make her laugh. "Ivy involves us taking a walk outside; ghosts call for me to go through a year's worth of drawings."

"_Eugene_."

"Ivy smells nice. And ghosts are… scary?"

She considered him for a moment. "Do _you_ think ghosts are scary?"

"Mmm…." He pictured for a moment the little boy that would sometimes stand next to his bed at night in the orphanage. "Depends on the ghost."

"You're mocking me."

"I am absolutely not mocking you." He watched her bite her lip and reach for the drawings resting in between them. "But that's why you've kept it from me, isn't it?"

"It's just that I've been really terrible at anticipating people's reactions to this. "Down at the University—"

"You've taken these to the University?"

"—I expected a chilly reception from the scientist I spoke to, but he was really excited and even lent me some things to read. And it was the _theology and philosophy_ professor who was dismissive! Can you believe that, Eugene?"

"Uh, yeah. Wouldn't've called that."

"I know not everyone gets excited about the same things I do, but they don't have to be so…." She looked away and buried a hand in her hair.

"Hey." He put his hand on the spot he supposed was her knee under her dress. "You don't think I'd do something I knew would hurt you, do you?"

"Of course not."

"Because I wouldn't."

"I know you wouldn't do anything _on purpose_, but if you though I was crazy—"

"Crazy? Rapunzel—" he grabbed one of her hands in his "—I know you're crazy. Of course you're crazy. Your oldest friend is a lizard. And you hang around with a guy like me." She was laughing, so he smiled—even though the last thing he'd said had made him feel pretty shitty.

He only had a moment to dwell on it, though, and less time to consider kissing her, as her father entered the room by booming a greeting at him.

Eugene stood from the couch, as he usually did upon first seeing the King.

"Oh, there's Pascal." He was resting in the King's upturned palm. "I was wondering why I hadn't seen him."

"Papá went to visit the vineyards on the mainland today." Rapunzel held out her hands to take Pascal, still sitting on the couch. I though Pascal might enjoy the change of scenery."

"You didn't miss all that much, Dearest. And besides, you should keep your appointments whenever possible."

"Good royal rule of thumb?"

"Exactly, Eugene!" The King clapped him genially on the shoulder. "Come along, Dearest. Your mother's probably already at the table."

As the King guided him away by the shoulder he held out his hand for Rapunzel, looking back in time to see her drop the ghost-drawings she'd picked up again to catch his fingers in hers before he was pulled out of reach.


	3. Chapter 3

The year's Sol Invictus Day celebration was going to be a real event.

It was to be a coming- out of sorts for Rapunzel; for the first time, the King and Queen had invited foreign guests—family, allies—to attend Corona's Sol Invictus Day festivities. They'd even invited Eugene to stay in the castle for the duration.

"You must! There will be no work for you in the week before and after—"

"—And just think of all the commuting in the cold you'll be saved from!"

Rapunzel had not warned him of this the way she'd warned him before her father had asked him to come be of use in the palace instead of continuing his atonement project.

"You can meet Rapunzel's cousins!"

He already knew that Rapunzel was becoming visibly buoyant at the prospect of cousins in her seat next to him at the table.

"We'll put you in a room separate from all the other guests."

Other guests? Was he different from them?

"That way you can have some peace and privacy away from the celebrations."

The King and Queen were really learning how to make him blush.

So, for the first time since he'd brought Rapunzel back to the Kingdom, he was to stay in Corona's castle.

Eugene arrived when he was invited: a week before Sol Invictus Day. He locked up his rooms behind him, told the landlady not to wait up for him, and allowed his things—clothes, Sol Invictus gifts—to be packed into the carriage the palace's steward had sent to collect him. But still, he was the first to arrive.

"No guests yet?" he asked after kissing her on the forehead in the grand foyer.

"Not for a few more days."

So he kissed her on the mouth.

Rapunzel exploded with enthusiasm for the leisure time the holiday allowed for. The day after Eugene arrived she took out the fine paints hours of lessons had kept her from; she took up a place in the kitchen to make spinach puffs from a recipe book she'd found at a stand on her way to an appointment at the university; and she read aloud from the pulpy book of pirate stories her parents wrinkled their noses at but did not expressly forbid, while Eugene slipped in and out of a doze.

Drifting out of his nap, he reached an arm out to grab a Rapunzel-made spinach puff.

"Don't move too much." Rapunzel stopped her reading mid-sentence. "You'll disturb her."

Eugene opened his eyes, already directed at Rapunzel, and noted Pascal clinging to the top of her head, his eyes narrowed directly at his chest. He was only beginning to try to remember how he might have fouled the frog when Rapunzel nodded her chin at him.

"You both look so precious."

By some instinct he looked down at himself, finding the familiar tailless cat curled up against him. It snuggled more closely into him and gave him an ugly look before closing its eyes.

"Huh. I don't think it's ever been this close to me before."

Rapunzel smiled. "It's taking advantage of your body heat."

"At least someone is."

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing. Listen, I'm going to skip out for a few hours tomorrow. That okay?"

"Yes." She looked down at the book in her lap, and Eugene closed his eyes, relaxing again. "May I… ask where you're going?"

"The orphanage."

"Oh."

"I won't be long."

"Eugene, don't worry—"

"It's just that it's a bad time to not visit." His eyes began to close again; the fire a few feet away was flickering soothingly, and the cat at his chest was purring.

"Maybe I could come with you?"

Eugene found it fundamentally amusing when she asked permission for anything within the boundaries of her own kingdom. He pretended otherwise, though, because he knew he wouldn't do the same thing if he were in her place. She was special that way.

"Sure. I bet everyone'll be glad you're there."

"I haven't been in ages."

"They'll probably forget all about me, they'll be so excited."

"Shush, you." She leaned over to give him a lopsided kiss, carefully avoiding the cat—though he wouldn't have cared for the moment if she'd shoved it away if she wanted the space next to him instead.

"Are you going to keep reading?"

"Not out loud—I'm just putting you to sleep."

"Sorry."

"And here I thought you'd like this, what with all the daring swashbucklers. It's really Flynnagan Rider-esque, don't you think?"

"I'm not Flynnagan Rider."

"I didn't…."

Shit. Ten better ways to say what he meant came to mind immediately, but he could tell by the set of her eyebrows that it was too late."

"Hey, I'm sorry." He reached out and touched her knee. "Will you keep reading? I like listening."

* * *

The trip to the orphanage the next day became two-fold once the King and the Queen found out about it. He wasn't just coming around to make sure nothing needed repairing or to help serve lunch—he and Rapunzel were going to supervise the delivery of the King and Queen's Sol Invictus Day gifts to the children. While he knew that they sent blankets, toys, and books for Sol Invictus every year, even before they knew him—which was a nicer gesture than the landowner near the orphanage he grew up in had ever made at any time of the year—he still couldn't think of it as any more than a gesture.

Sure, he knew better than to think that Rapunzel's parents could afford to get so close to every needy person they supported in their kingdom. But it was unsettlingly difficult for him not to take the orphans' treatment personally. And they made it very hard to resent them when they did things like invite him to the castle earlier than anyone else, pardon his crimes, sometimes address him as 'son', and let him spend copious amounts of time with their daughter.

Eugene didn't mean to lose track of Rapunzel among all the children. But between wrangling a few of the older kids to help him carry the blankets into the dormitories and making sure the beadle knew the other things weren't to be unwrapped from their decorative paper until Sol Invictus Day, Rapunzel slipped from his elbow to a group of little girls and shy boys, then out of sight.

He finally found her in the meal hall, her attention being vied for from at least three directions while she held her own handkerchief to the bloody nose of an eight-year-old.

It didn't faze him that the kids didn't acknowledge him until he raised his voice above theirs as he deftly took the boy from Rapunzel to examine his nose as he spoke.

"What do you all think you're doing? There's one of her and thirty of you—take her outside for a game or something."

Besides giving him time to sort out the bloody-nose-boy, he knew Rapunzel would be thrilled to take part in a game. It was something she asked him about from time to time, and he'd long since exhausted his knowledge of cards, found he was too impulsive to beat Rapunzel (or Pascal) at chess, annoyed the palace's staff with their games of hide and seek.

When he made it outside to the narrow yard the kids played in, he found Rapunzel engaged in some sort of running, goal-scoring game—the kids had invented a few variations—so enthusiastically that she'd removed her long coat, whether to run more easily or from becoming overheated he wasn't sure. He thought the kids should put up a struggle over who should get him on their team because of his size, but he was sent without any fuss to the team Rapunzel wasn't on, to even out the spread of adults. _Psh, now they decide to be mature and reasonable._ It was a nice setup, though, as it gave Eugene opportunities to show off how quick he was—albeit only in comparison to children—and to get extra close to Rapunzel while he tried to block her from passing the weighted, hide-wrapped ball to one of her teammates.

By the end she was rosy-cheeked, out of breath, and a winner. Eugene's team groused about how he had caused the loss by allowing too many passes, but he tolerated it because it was true—seriously, though, did they expect him to swipe the ball right out of a six-year-old's hands? It didn't matter; the sun was getting low in the sky and the kids had to listen to him when he told them it was time to go inside. He and Rapunzel walked behind them aiming for the spot of ground she thought she'd thrown her coat on, and he grasped her cold fingers while they walked.

"I bet," he lifted the coat of the ground after stepping on an errant sleeve, "your parents would _not_ approve of you running around so exposed."

She stuck her arms out so he could help her into the thing.

"Am I exposed?" She smirked at him over her shoulder.

"Well, yeah." He turned her around gently by her shoulders. "Look at your hands—" he lifted them to his lips for a quick kiss—"can you even feel your fingertips? And your neck—" he moved the backs of his fingers down its length to the square of bare skin above the neckline of her dress—"don't you know you're supposed to keep that covered?"

"Why?" She said it softly, like she'd asked it absently, only to fill a gap where she knew a response was needed.

"Because—because." He hadn't moved his hand from the skin below her neck. It wasn't as smooth as he'd felt it before; there was some resistance on the surface, probably of perspiration from the game. He thought of what other things they might do that would make her skin sweat.

A clatter came from inside the building, and it snapped the intense trance he felt he'd been locked into while touching Rapunzel. As if she also realized that they were awfully close to one another for being in a public space, she broke her eyes from his too.

"And your nose is all pink." He touched his lips lightly to her nose for a few seconds, feeling her lean into their contact on her toes.

He was glad at the moment that Pascal had stayed behind at the palace.

* * *

Once the King and Queen's close friends and distant relatives arrived, Eugene very seldom found himself alone—or even close to—Rapunzel aside from dinners, at which he was sometimes able to snag a seat next to her before one of her giddy cousins did. There was also no more staying up late in the sitting room after her parents had gone to bed, Pascal had made himself scarce underneath a blanket, the fire had dwindled to mere embers, and the door had been quietly shut against any of the wandering servants or incompetent guards.

No, Rapunzel's attentions were taken up very thoroughly by the several ladies now staying in the palace. Besides her two cousins—both slightly older and too simpering for Eugene's taste—there were older women more closely acquainted with her mother. They all spent much of the day together doing…things Eugene could not fathom. Aside from the fact that he was sure men were unwelcome in their exclusive activities, Eugene was taken in hand by the King, who kept Eugene engaged in all the very masculine activities he and his company had planned. He was no less flattered by the preferential treatment than he was as he learned what wealthy men did to amuse themselves.

Someone suggested a foxhunt in the afternoon, but most didn't seem too enthusiastic about going out into the woods in the chill winds that had taken hold for the season. This disappointed Eugene, who thought it would have been great fun to force Maximus away from his guard duties to take him out on a pleasure hunt. The two afternoons they spent in together were thus reduced to loosely-organized quarterstaff sparring—which Eugene unreservedly joined—gambling—which Eugene felt obligated not to participate in in front of the King—and drinking from the King's fine stock.

Earlier than usual on the morning of Sol Invictus Day Eugene was a wake, ready to venture all the way to Rapunzel's bedroom door to wake her up before anyone had a chance to snatch her away for breakfast or some group activity or another. It was quite a thing for Eugene, who had no better luck sleeping in the palace than he did in his own rooms. He cringed as he put on clean, cold clothes and washed up with the frigid water from the basin in the room. Would Rapunzel mind being roused so early? The sun was only just beginning to creep up over the watery horizon outside his window.

He tucked the tulle-wrapped gift meant for her against him and departed into the near-dark of the hallway outside. After only a few steps he heard the soft pad of Rapunzel's own footfalls before she rounded a corner, candle in hand.

"Oh, good!" She was whispering even though no one else was sleeping in any of the rooms in his corridor. "I thought I was going to have to jump on your bed to wake you up this early."

Damn.

"Oh, yeah? Well why are _you_ up so early?"

"Reasons." Pascal peeked out from under the sash that was wound around her shoulders to match her haughty expression.

"Uh huh. What're you coming to get me for, then?"

"So I can give you your Sol Invictus gifts!" Pascal chirped as she lurched forward to take his free hand. "Isn't that mine you have?"

"Yes, but you can't have it until I say so."

"Put your coat on; I want to go outside."

"Really?"

"Yes, Eugene. I'm going crazy being cooped up in here when it's so beautiful outside."

"But it's—"

"Please come with me, Eugene. Look—" she lifted the hem of her dress above her ankles—"I've been wearing my boots all morning so I'd be ready."

He wrinkled his nose at her, knowing full well what it would mean to keep her from going out if she wanted to. And whether she'd been sure she'd be able to get him to come with her or if she intended on going out even if she had to do it by herself he wasn't sure—but a basket and two furry blankets were already waiting for them by side entrance she led them to.

The wind off the water was strong even in the morning, but the spot against the wall of the castle, overlooking the water and the sunrise was somewhat calmer.

"Spread one of the blankets out so we can sit on it."

"You mean like a picnic."

"Yes, exactly like a picnic!"

"Is that my gift? A breakfast picnic?"

"Shush-shush—sit."

They sat down together against the chilly stone wall and Rapunzel threw the second blanket over their legs, heaving the basket she'd brought out in front of them. She reached inside the basket and spent a few moments working at something Eugene couldn't see. Then she straightened up.

"Ta-da!" She pulled her arms out of the basket, holding a buttered slice of bread and a delicate ceramic cup of tea. "Breakfast picnic! Happy Sol Invictus Day, Eugene!"

"Wow! Thanks, babe!" He took the bread and the cup from her and kissed her before leaning back into the spot on the wall that was warming to his back. "You're going to have some, too, right?"

"Yeah, but start eating while I get mine ready."

He watched the way the sun cast a pale orange glow over her while clutched the warm cup to his chest and bit into his bread.

"Hey—this is still warm."

"Of course it is; it only came out of the oven an hour ago?"

"What? You made this today?"

"Of course. It wouldn't be as delicious if I made it earlier."

"You didn't have to do that, Rapunzel."

"Don't whine. Eat. Besides, the hard part was getting the tea out here without it spilling!"

"Are these cranberries?"

"Yes." Rapunzel spoke through a mouthful of bread in a very un-princess-like fashion. "I dried them last Fall."

"Mm."

"I'm not going to lie—this was kind of for me, too. I don't have time to cook anymore."

"You've got other important things to do anyway."

"Yeah. Besides, I don't think the kitchen staff likes it very much when I'm in their way."

"Then you should tell them to get out."

"Why? _They're_ the ones who work there. And they don't barge into my parents' meetings when I'm shadowing them, or into the library when I'm studying."

Eugene rolled his eyes at her while he chewed. "Come on. You've got to know those're two totally different situations."

"Not in principle." She brought out another slice of cranberry bread for each of them, as well as a small piece for Pascal to work on where he'd buried himself underneath the blanket in between them. "So… are you going to give me _my_ present?"

"Oh, yeah." He pulled her gift out from under the corner of the blanket where he'd placed it to protect it from the chill. He held it out in the hand that wasn't holding his tea cup and puffed out his chest to make her laugh. "Happy Sol Invictus Day, Princess."

"It's beautiful, Eugene." She ran a hand over the lavender tulle wrapping.

"That's not the gift."

"I know, but I'm still keeping it." She pulled the thin ribbon Eugene had tied himself on the top and the tulle fell away to reaveal—

"Brahmi! It is, isn't it?"

"Uh, I thought it was called Bacopa."

"Yes, it's called that, too." She was holding the small, fragile plant at eye level, inspecting its fronds. "It's so rare in this part of the world, Eugene. Where did you get it?"

"Eh, I found a guy."

"I can't believe it! How did you even know I wanted one?"

"I saw all the notes you made about it once when we were in the library. And didn't you go to the University's greenhouse to see if they had one?"

"I did!"

"So you like it?"

"I love it!"

Eugene pursed his lips at her.

"Don't make that face; I love you, too." Rapunzel pulled him into a kiss by the back of his head and he smiled into it.

He tried to find a way to hold her, but found it difficult since she was still holding her plant and he was still holding a half-full cup of tea. He set it down on the ground next to him, unsure—and unconcerned about—whether it had stayed upright, and eased the small clay pot out of Rapunzel's arm and away from where she sat. As he lifted her onto his lap she opened her mouth to his and their tongues met in the middle; he moaned at the overwhelming feel of her after days of being close to her, but not close enough.

But—seeming to know exactly what was going on and, of course, not wanting any part of it—Pascal startled them both as he flew, screeching and pink with embarrassment—from under the blanket onto the stone wall.

"Oh, Pascal, I'm so sorry!" Rapunzel held both her hands out to him. "I forgot you were under the blanket. Please come back—you'll freeze if you stay on the wall."

Still pink, he crawled into Rapunzel's hands and onto her shoulder where she lifted her sash up for him.

Eugene looked away so as to more easily resist giving him the evil eye; he knew the lizard hadn't done anything on purpose. In fact, he was usually good at making himself scarce when things he didn't want to be witness to started going down. Which didn't happen as often as Eugene would have liked, but still.

"Sorry."

"No problem." He pulled the blanket so it covered her on her new spot on his lap. The sun had made it all the way over the horizon, but he could barely feel it on his face. Some Sol Invictus Day. "Hey."

"Yeah?"

"I've got something else for you."

She smiled and opened her mouth to say something, but before she could say anything—

"But it only half-counts because you've seen it before. But I really want to give it to you." Eugene reached all the way into his vest to pull out a small drawstring pouch; he awkwardly upended it into his other palm and brought the ring he'd tried to give to Rapunzel twice before into her line of sight. "Marry me?"

Her eyelids fluttered several times; she took several breaths, and her mouth opened and closed as if she could not decide whether or not she wanted to speak. Even though Eugene felt the now familiar sense of crashing and burning that came with his proposals to her, he wouldn't look away.

"Hey."

She met his eyes, though she looked like it pained her to do it.

"I love you. So much. You know that, right?"

She nodded.

"Then what's wrong?" Both times before she'd offered explanations that seemed reasonable—even if they were still disappointing—to Eugene afterward ("I'm still so young! What's the rush?"; "Wouldn't it be better if you finished your atonement projects first? Besides, I'm still studying, too."). But she'd never looked so scared to tell him why he was about to be rejected.

"_Nothing's_ wrong. That's the point."

"What do you mean?"

"Why do you want things to change so badly?"

"Change between us—you say it like it would be a bad thing."

"What would be so good about it?"

That one hurt. "I just want to be closer to you. I want everyone to know that we belong to each other."

"_Belong?_"

"No, no, no, not like that. I just want to show everyone that… that I choose you over everyone else. Even myself." He decided not to say that he wanted her to show everyone she felt the same about him, realizing with the sinking of his gut that it would be presumptuous of him to think that she would.

"Why do I have to choose, though? I love you—but I also love my parents, I love Pascal, and I love my people. Wouldn't my choosing you be like separating myself from everyone else?"

"I don't want to take anything away from you. I only want to give you more—more than I can now. What is it in me that you're afraid of?"

Rapunzel looked down.

And then he knew it: he was being rejected for a third time. A small part of him wanted to toss her off his lap and storm off somewhere he could hide his face and be alone; but a bigger, more desperate part just wanted her to stay put. "Hey, I'm sorry—"

"—don't apologize."

"Ok. Look, I love you, okay?"

"And I love you." She looked up at him again.

"Okay." It would just have to be enough for now. "Can I have some more bread?"

"Sure." She scooted off him and back into her original spot. While she leaned over the basket Pascal crawled out of cocoon on her shoulder and scampered through the cold to where Eugene's hand rested on his leg. He closed his eyes and rested his head against his knuckles.

* * *

More nicely than he'd ever dressed himself on purpose before, Eugene left the corridor he was occupying alone to join the party in the palace's lower ballroom. He swatted the blue fabric of his pants self-consciously for any stray pieces of fur the tailless cat had left behind after taking a nap on them. He wasn't used to making such a thing of his wardrobe—he suspected he'd look good in just about anything, and in any case had never felt the need to use what he was wearing to make himself even better—but he knew that the Sol Invictus ball the King and Queen were throwing was a major even for Rapunzel. Besides, he'd be embarrassed if he showed up in his regular boots and doublet if even the merchants and landowners who'd been invited were better-prepared than him.

"Eugene, you look very dashing." The Queen took both his hands in hers to spread his arms apart and get a look at his outfit. The show of familiarity in front of all their other guests made Eugene feel a little warm in the face, but the thought he played it off well once she let him go and he was allowed to bow his head in a more proper greeting.

"Yes, it's very good—" the King leaned in closer to Eugene. "Am I going to be making any _announcements_ this evening?"

"Rapunzel didn't tell me anything this afternoon, and I didn't want to ask—but it really should be her father that makes the announcement, especially with all these guests in person—"

Eugene shook his head. "She said no."

Rapunzel's father balked before recovering himself. "Again."

Not knowing how he should respond, he simply didn't, watching the King and Queen's reactions instead.

"Oh, Eugene, you mustn't give up; I know she loves you."

"Of course I won't."

"That's a good man." The King placed a hand on Eugene's shoulder. "You'll need that determination; I expect someone else to ask for Rapunzel's hand before the end of the day."

"What?"

"I'm sorry, Eugene, but I had to give him my blessing for diplomatic reasons."

Eugene nodded, a falling sensation beneath his feat where solid ground should have been. "Who—ah, can you please tell me who is planning to ask her?"

"Lord Abergavenny."

Eugene wondered if he should have known who this was.

"You met him yesterday."

"…"

"You beat him playing at longstaff?"

"_Aaron_."

"Aaron!" That chump. Eugene had beaten him at longstaff sparring a few times, but they'd been pretty chummy over beers. Did he think he was scoping out his competition or something?

Wait.

Competition? No. Rapunzel had rejected him three times so far, but she loved him; he knew it. He wasn't worried about a competition for Rapunzel. But he was irked by the knowledge that someone wanted Rapunzel in the same way that he wanted her. No—that wasn't right either; no one could want Rapunzel like he did, could they? Would they appreciate her art, the pinkness of her fingernail beds, the reading recommendations she gave relentlessly, her songs, the way her freckles crinkled into one another when she smiled? What about Pascal? Would any other man tolerate her closeness to the lizard? No. No; no one—not even he—could possibly be good enough for Rapunzel, but at least he loved her. Could Aaron—_Lord Abergavenny_— possibly love her?

"I'm not really concerned, Eugene." The King's voice brought him out of what he was worried had become a blank stare. "But I would have felt better if you two would have tied things up sooner. Are you sure you're asking clearly."

"Where is she?"

"She's making a staggered entrance soon." The Queen had her arm clutched in the King's. "She did go back to her rooms for something she forgot, though."

"Thank you."

He bowed his head as curtly as he could without feeling rude, then turned on his heel out of the ballroom. Rapunzel's rooms were up a few floors, but he made it there in a matter of a few minutes. He didn't even come across any guards to give him any of their customary distrustful looks.

The double doors to Rapunzel's rooms were wide open, as usual. On his first glance, he didn't see her anywhere in the room, so he knocked. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw Rapunzel come forward from against the wall, but when he looked there was nothing there but the bare wall.

"Eugene?" someone croaked.

He turned and only saw Rapunzel, framed in the light falling through the window behind her. He crossed the room, finding when he got closer that her face was red with crying. Or was it blush?

"Hey. Aren't you supposed to be making your grand entrance soon?"

"Yeah." She sniffled and turned away to dab under her eyes with an abused-looking handkerchief. As she turned Eugene noticed a sheaf of papers pinned in between her body and her elbow.

"Rapunzel, are those your drawings?" He took them gently, seeing some black smudging on the bodice of her dress from whatever she'd used on the paper. "Aw, babe, you've got some color on your dress."

She looked down, then threw her arms up, but feebly. "_Great_. Now this is going to be a disaster _for sure_."

"What are you talking about? Here, give me your handkerchief, I'll see what I can do." He dusted at it a few times, and most of it flew off pretty easily, probably due partly to the soggy state of the handkerchief. "See? No problem." He stood up from where he'd been kneeling beside her. "What's going on?"

Her eyes looked full of moisture, and were wide, as if she were avoiding closing them to keep it all from overflowing. "I think I just figured something out." She gestured at the papers Eugene had lain face down on an end table.

He picked them up and took a moment to place them. "These are your specter-drawings, aren't they?"

She nodded. "I still see her sometimes, and I think she knows it."

"What—"

"And I don't think she likes me."

"I don't—"

"And the shape of her… it's—it's—I always thought there was something familiar about it…like _Mother_."

Eugene looked at the drawings again, but kept from saying anything while she caught her breath.

"I mean, don't you think so?"

"I don't know. I only met her once and everything from that time kind of blurs together, to be honest."

Rapunzel looked away and nodded.

"But, hey, I'm confused, Rapunzel. Why are you upset? Are you scared?"

"I didn't used to be; I thought seeing her was strange and exciting— like magic. But she started getting closer to me—"

"What do you mean 'closer to you'?"

"Like, instead of seeing her at the other side of a hallway, I'd see her across the room. Then a few feet away. Then close enough to lean over my shoulder."

"You've seen her close up?"

"No, no, I can only see the shape of her. I don't know if she has wrinkles on her arms, or what color her eyes are or anything."

Eugene looked back at her drawings; they were only dark outlines and rough, shadowy shading.

"But the closer she's gotten, the more I feel scared. It's not a feeling like being scared of something; it's the feeling itself. You know, in your stomach and at the back or your neck?"

He nodded.

"And I didn't know why, but she's never harmed me or anything, so I didn't think to say anything. But I had this dream last night—" her voice broke as a sob caused her to inhale sharply.

Eugene lifted the handkerchief to dab at her eyes, which were definitely flowing now, but she took it away from him to do it herself—much less gently than he would have, he thought.

"—and I realized that she _looks_ like her." She breathed a few times, clearly trying to slow herself down. "I don't remember all of the dream, but I was just remembering some things she used to say to me. She would say they were only jokes, most of the time. But sometimes she forgot to say that, and I ended up always believing that they were true."

"What kinds of things?"

"Like that I mumble too much, that I was getting chubby, or that I was immature."

Eugene looked away, feeling agitated suddenly.

"And I think on another day I would have been able to push it away, but today… today I'm supposed to be _royal_."

"You're royal _every_ day, babe."

"But today I'm supposed to look and act like it." She turned and began to pace a slow track in front of where Eugene leaned on the back of a couch. "And I guess I thought I was prepared; you know, it's really just a matter of speaking and carrying yourself in certain ways. But I already had her voice in the back of my mind: "sloppy, underdressed…" And I feel like it's exactly like that!"

"Rapunzel, you're the exact opposite of underdressed." He looked her up and down so that she would notice him doing it. "You look amazing."

She smiled sadly at him.

"My cousin Belinda helped me get ready. She put blush on my cheeks; she said it looked good because it covers up my freckles. Mother always said it was a shame that they developed, that it ruined my complexion."

It took Eugene a moment to decide how he could tell her—how he could cover everything she should hear to make her feel stronger.

"Hey," he held out his hand for her. "Sit with me?"

He guided them to the couch and perched on the edge with her. He could hear the various fabrics of her skirts brush against one another as she fidgeted.

"I don't know how else to tell you your freckles are beautiful—" he kissed her cheekbone, where he knew them to be "because you already know _I_ like them. Let me see that." He took the handkerchief from where she was clutching it in her lap. He began moving the cloth along her cheeks, nose, and forehead as he spoke. "I don't think anyone here has ever let it stop them from adoring you, right?"

Rapunzel shook her head.

"It's because you're their princess, and you're _just_ the princess they need. You'll look beautiful tonight and you're going to sound great speaking to all these important people—but that's not going to make you seem like a better princess. I mean, I've never _heard_ of a princess like you; you're not just beautiful—you're smart, too, and interested in people, and you treat everyone the same. You could go to the ball barefoot tonight, and next week even your cousin Belinda will be doing the same."

"But I am wearing shoes, Eugene." She sniffled and lifted the hem of her dress. "See? They sparkle, and they match my dress."

"Yeah, I see that." He handed the handkerchief back to her; it was smeared pink in places from the blush he'd wiped from her face.

"Thanks."

He grinned at her. "Don't worry about anything for now. I don't know too much about ghosts, but I know for sure that they can't hurt you."

"How are you sure?"

"Because they're dead."

Rapunzel breathed that in, chewing on her tongue. "You say that, but I feel like Mother might have said those things to me just last night. And that does hurt."

Eugene nodded and grimaced. "Whatever she said to you—whatever _anyone_'s ever said to you—it doesn't matter. _You_ like your dress, don't you?"

She nodded.

"And your face? Your freckles?"

"I don't mind them, I guess."

"And what about dancing? Are you ready to dance?"

She nodded, smiling now.

"Alright then!" He clapped his hands together and placed them on his knees, thinking about the princess who sat next to him. Much more sedately: "It's a shame I'm not allowed to dance with you."

"What if—"

"But it's just as well." He stood and held out his hand to help her up. He remembered that he'd come to find her in the first place to look at her, talk to her, find some reminder of why he was sure he didn't have to worry if some other man wanted her; he expected to be the needy one. "Because then I'd just want to keep you to myself all evening."

She kissed him then, in that surprising way she had of grasping the front of his shirt and pulling him down. It felt different to him, though; she moved her hands to his shoulder and the back of his neck, pulling at him in a way that felt serious. But it was hard to wonder about it any further than that; she pressed herself against him; she didn't loosen her grip—and he wouldn't if she wouldn't.

Eugene was already felt fuzzy when she pulled away enough to speak.

"I love you, Eugene."

"I love you too, Rapunzel." Fuzzy because it was perfect.

"Let's get married."

Fuzzy because things didn't make sense. "Huh?"

"You still want to marry me, don't you?"

He nodded.

"You haven't changed your mind since this morning?"

He shook his head.

"So you will marry me?"

He exhaled, "Yeah." Had she just turned his proposal around on him? "Hold on—"

She kissed him again. This time he could feel her smiling through it.

"I was scared to say yes this morning, but—but I'm not afraid anymore."

"Really?"

"Yeah." She pulled him out of her rooms by the hand. "Come on, I'm supposed to make my entrance before sunset."

They ran through the corridors, down stone steps, down carpeted steps.

"You go in first—we'll tell my parents later. What d'you think they'll say?" She held on to her crown with the hand he wasn't holding while they ran.

"I think they'll want to make an announcement."

"Really? You think they'll be _that_ happy?"

"Yep. I think they might even let me dance with you tonight."


	4. Chapter 4

Their heads were on opposite sides of the bed, but Rapunzel and Eugene's feet were tangled up somewhere in the middle, under the blankets. A jerk of his foot startled Rapunzel half-awake, and the jerk of his body that followed woke them both.

"Eugene?" Rapunzel could see him pushing himself up and looking around in the dark. When he didn't reply she reached out for him. He jumped at her touch, even though she was gentle. Had she startled him by the chill in her fingers? The double doors to their balcony were open and the blankets on their bed were not heavy, but his shoulder felt hot and a little slippery with sweat.

There was very little moonlight—whether because of cloud-cover or its phase, she wasn't sure—but she could only see Eugene's profile when he turned, still tense.

"Dreaming?"

She felt his shoulder relax under her hand, and he flopped back onto his pillow.

He sighed heavily, like he'd been holding his breath before. "Yeah. Did I wake you?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Sorry."

"It's fine." She scooted closer to him in the bed, careful not to disturb the pillow next to her own on which Pascal was still asleep. "You okay?"

"Yeah." He turned onto his side so they were facing each other. "Yeah."

In throwing the blankets off of himself he ended up displacing the part that was covering Rapunzel; she pulled it back up over her.

Though she meant to fall back asleep, she became preoccupied with Eugene's stillness—with the very small breaths he took that told her he was still awake too. For a time she couldn't measure because of the darkness she contemplated asking what he had dreamed of that had roused him. She'd seen it happen a few times before, when he was only napping or when she was already awake—but he usually bounced back from those episodes so quickly that she let her questions go. _Does it happen often? Maybe it just never wakes me up. What does he do then?_

"Are you too hot to snuggle?" She didn't think to pretend she hadn't noticed he was still up.

"No." He lifted his arm up so she could move under it.

Close to him—where she could tuck her head under his chin, feel the rhythm of his breaths against her, and smell the skin of his chest—she decided she'd let him be. Maybe they'd both be able to fall asleep that way.

"Can I tell you something?"

Rapunzel only nodded, because she knew he would feel it.

"Sometimes, in my dreams, I'm called Flynn Rider."

His words sounded especially deep to Rapunzel, so close to his throat.

"It bothers you?"

"It's not that—it's…I just wasn't a very nice guy when I was Flynn."

"I know." She said it to help lighten him up, but she worried right after that it might have been inconsiderate.

"I didn't do good things when I was Flynn."

"I know you did things you regret, Eugene."

"I did very bad things."

She kissed the space between his collar bones. "You're a good man now, Eugene. My parents made sure everyone would know it, too. _You_ worked three years for it."

"Don't you ever worry that that part of me isn't gone? That I'll do something? Maybe even to you?"

"Of course not; you'd never do anything to hurt me." She considered this, trying to find some way to work her gut feeling into reason for him. "I know who Eugene is, and he's just not capable of doing the things Flynn did."

By his silence, Rapunzel thought she'd settled it for him.

"Sometimes, in my dreams, I do things that hurt you."

She didn't know what to say.

"I don't do them to you on _purpose_—I just _cause_ you to get hurt, or… _be_ hurt. I don't know. I just don't like seeing it."

One of the things she love about being with Eugene was that she could translate her exact feelings into words and not worry about being embarrassed, as she had learned to be around everyone else. So it was easy for her to respond.

"I'm not worried about Flynn, Eugene. I haven't seen him in years. In fact, I think you left him in a cave. And I'm glad—I mean, he sure was handsome, but he was kind of a jerk, you know?"

Eugene made a sound that was like a mixture of a laugh and a sigh.

"And it's just as well. I mean, I never would have met Eugene if Flynn hadn't disappeared first."

"I killed him, then?"

"It seems like it, doesn't it? Maybe that's why I'm not worried about him."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." She smiled at the absurdity of it. "If he's dead he can't hurt either of us."

* * *

Note: And that's that. There are some things I cut out from the story because I thought they didn't fit. Maybe I'll make one-shots out of them sometime.

The word count requirement of the big bang for which this was written was 10,000; this story- without notes- sits at 13,521. (Weeeooo!) I was really pleased to be able to participate in it, alongside a bunch of awesome fanartists and fanfic authors. You should go check the Big Bang's tumblr out.

I put No Touch on hold to write this. Just in case anyone's concerned, please let it be known that I've started working on it again.

Again, thanks for reading.

-8/10/12


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